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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142385">signed; not sent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelychicagos/pseuds/lonelychicagos'>lonelychicagos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:55:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelychicagos/pseuds/lonelychicagos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of letters Raquel wrote for Sergio during the agonizing year-long wait between the heist and her arrival in Palawan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>These letters/thought pieces are part of my character study/interpretation for Raquel before I wrote Behind Closed Doors. The first few letters may refer to the heist and their past relationship, but as the months progressed, it will somehow deviate to different events, new characters, etc. before diverting back to the ending of Part 2.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sergio (or Salva?),<br/> <br/>It’s been a week since the police raided your whereabouts only to find the hangar free from anything that could have pointed to you or your escape route. It’s been a week since the media has first reported that the robbers of what seemed to be the biggest heist in Spain and the modern world has escaped with money shy of 1 billion Euros. It’s also been a week since my workmates first mocked me for “fraternizing with the enemy”, snickering past me as they whisper about this “love story” I have gotten myself in during the heist.<br/> <br/>It’s been a week and a week is more than enough for me to reflect on how your presence clouded my work and my choices for those 11 days. I’ve been keeping track of all our encounters, even before I asked you out for dinner. I’ve thought about how you would still have found a different way to get close to me had my phone been charged enough to make that phone call to my mother. You would still have found a different way to woo me had I not been convinced enough that you’re just a journalist interested in the hostage-taking inside the Royal Mint.<br/> <br/>When I found out that the professor has been planning on talking to me for months, it angered me—knowing that the kidnappers are always one step ahead of us. For the first time in my life, I felt blind. I didn’t know where to look or how to progress. All the clues we had were somehow tampered with and only led us nowhere. It’s funny how a band of 8 people and one leader sets off the work of more three national security forces. We’re like your little puppets, held back by a string that you so pleasurably control in that control room of yours. Or maybe it’s just me you’ve been able to manipulate.<br/> <br/>When I found out it was you, Sergio or Salva, I don’t even know who’s who, I was hurt. Knowing that this newfound hope I had in my system is just a ploy to throw off the police while you do your dirty work. Now wouldn’t you like to put it in your list of greatest feats? How you’ve managed to slither in the pants of a trained negotiator, who spent years in academy trying to deconstruct every possible situation in a crisis I had faced two weeks ago. And yet, nothing prepared me for the whirlwind romance you’ve given. While your band of eight people had 67 hostages in their hands, you only had one. Me.<br/> <br/>You’ve distracted me with those fake stories of your father’s amusement with cider and how you’d cross the ocean with me and my family just to be with you. I admit, you’ve hammered through the walls I’ve built for the past years. For a week, you’ve taken me prisoner. For a week, you’re all I could think of. It’s as if I’m in my own case of Stockholm Syndrome.<br/> <br/>Don’t get me wrong—when I said I was with you, only truth prevailed. And with that confession comes the slightest hope in me that you’d somehow bring me with you. I realize now that it has never been an option for you nor me.<br/> <br/>I’m happy that you’re alive. I don’t think I would be able to bear it to have more blood on my hands despite being trained to shoot and kill criminals like you. If we were in different circumstances, I would have supported your cause. The system is corrupt and unjust. It’s built on disgusting principles and a hierarchy that steps on people the more you climb higher in the ladder. But in this circumstance, I am an Inspector and I am to do my job.<br/> <br/>I am fairly certain that this letter won’t reach you. It’s not as if you left me an address to send you letters every once in a while. You’re not my friend and I’m not yours either. But, if a miracle arises and you somehow get ahold of this letter, I do hope you know that if we see each other again, I hope that you won’t beg for forgiveness. You’ve already asked too much of me. I’ve already given you too much of me. I don’t think I can bear to also give you that.</p><p> </p><p>Raquel</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sergio,<br/> <br/>I’m not entirely sure why I picked up a pen and piece of stationery paper once again to write to you. I would like to make this sound like a traditional letter, but that would be impossible, without you replying, wouldn’t it? But for the sake of my sanity, I’ll pretend that that’s not the case.<br/> <br/>I’d like to tell you that I’m alright. As fine as I could ever be. I’m still a police officer, although I haven’t been showing up to work recently. I did once though. Two days after the heist, thinking it would all be back to normal if I did. It didn’t. As soon as I stepped inside the precinct, their eyes never left me. You see, they have this unwavering perception of sinners and saints. As if the only ranges in the spectrum of picking sides are left and right. You’re either this or you’re not.<br/> <br/>That day, I’ve been subject to that judgment. I’m sure they wanted me to fall down on my knees as I waited for their final verdict. I didn’t. As soon as the clock hit 5 p.m., I held my head high as I left the precinct. I've never looked back since. Not yet, anyway.<br/> <br/>The reason I’m writing to you now is that I need to take this burden out of my chest. It’s not as if I have the greatest circle of friends who’d stand by me if the need arises. My mother, despite all her efforts to listen to her daughter, wouldn’t understand the gravity of the situation. My sister wouldn’t even take a moment to listen to my heeds and warnings against Alberto, calling me the jealous ex-wife who couldn’t stand seeing her ex-husband happy.<br/> <br/>No progress has been made with my case against Alberto.<br/> <br/>A trial was supposed to be on schedule two weeks from now. But as of the time of writing, no appointment has been made. I talk with my lawyer frequently for advice, but her only is response is that we’ll have to wait for answers. Answers for what? Answers from whom? Vicuna and his party? The judge and juries? The Supreme Court of Madrid? This case has been going on for months and all I’ve done was wait. But please understand, from the perspective of a mother and a sister, the wait has been agonizing. The faster this case is finished, and the verdict finalized, the sooner I can get Paula and my mom away from Madrid. Maybe ask my sister to come if she wants to. I doubt she’d listen to me, but I’ll try somehow.<br/> <br/>Whenever I hear reporters talk about the hostage on TV, I could feel my blood boil. If it was because of you or the choices me and my team did during that week, I’m not sure anymore. But I wish I could still hold on to that promise of yours. That as soon as I finish the case, you’d take me and my family to a different place. Far away from here. Just escape and be free. But that’s not the case anymore, is it?<br/> <br/>I don’t even know what I feel for you now. Rage? Anger? Hatred? Or probably envy. Envious that you’ve made your escape without me. Now I’m stuck in Madrid, and you’re in a what? A deserted island where you can hang by your hammock every day without thought of tomorrow? If that’s so, it’s a pathetic life. But I’d rather have that than what I have now.</p><p> </p><p>Hoping for the best, <br/>Raquel</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sergio,</p><p>
  <em>I've had enough.</em>
</p><p>I apologize for writing once again. I'm afraid that I'm probably using the thought of you to my advantage. In all honesty, it's probably for my own sanity. You see, you're the only I have right now, which is deeply ironic. I don't even know which part of the world you've decided to live in as a fugitive for the rest of your life. I can't see, touch, nor hear you, but you're the only one I know who would understand me.</p><p>Laura's still pissed at me. She has been for the past two years. We never got past through the annual birthday and Christmas greetings. There's Paula, and while I love her with all of my soul, she's too young to understand the complications and challenges called life. And there's my mother, whose condition is getting worse each passing day. Sometimes she calls me Isabela, or Cristina, or some name of a woman that is definitely not me.</p><p>They're not the reason I've had enough, though.</p><p>A few weeks ago, my commissioner summoned me to the precinct and hinted that I might be demoted to sub-inspector. Or back to just being a police officer if I don't keep up with my performance. The reason? Emotional instability and questionable professionalism. They asserted that I needed the rest from the mental distraught you and your heist caused whilst balancing an on-going case against Alberto.</p><p>I say that they should stop the euphemism and just say that I'm a woman.</p><p>This is not the first time they've reduced a woman in the force to their body parts. It took me 11 years to finally get promoted to an inspector. To be a woman and to hold a leadership position is a privilege not all are given. With great responsibility comes great turmoil. Bumps and cracks in the form of men trying to climb up the ladder of success are always on your way. If there was one thing I learned in the national corps, it is that despite your drive and performance, there will always be someone higher who will step on you just because you're wearing a skirt.</p><p>Unfortunately, I wasn't able to kick any set of balls after that encounter.</p><p>I, however, passed my letter of resignation two days later. It took me another two to get past the state of the initial shock. It feels utterly strange to not have my badge and my pistol with me—the two things that I have depended on for protection and offense. These two symbolized how my life revolved around the force for decades, and not having them on still feels incomplete. This was how it must feel like to be stripped off your armor in the middle of a war.</p><p>And yet at the same time, this newfound form of bareness is liberating. The same badge that offered me some sort of pedestal is the same material that clouded over my judgment and made me believe that I was actually doing my part in serving the public. Now, all I see is a corrupt, misogynist organization that serves no one but their kind. If there was something I could thank you for, it would be this.</p><p>Hey, now that I'm jobless and struggling to keep my finances at bay, let me know when you need another member of your band. I could be of help with military tactics and negotiation (God knows how awful you were when you first talked to me). If you must know, I'd choose the nom de guerre, "Lisboa". Don't get me wrong, I do not put much thought on joining you and your criminal group, but my father used to bring me to the city during the summer, the city name was bound to come up at some point.</p><p>Paula asked why my eyes were bloodshot today. I wish I had the courage to answer her so I didn't have to put this mask on every day.</p><p>I should really stop talking to a non-existent you,</p><p>Raquel</p>
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